


leave me hanging like a spider with no fly

by substandardantiheroine



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Light Gunplay, Under-negotiated Kink, light heatplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 08:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/substandardantiheroine/pseuds/substandardantiheroine
Summary: The implication: He missed her, specifically, on purpose. He wants her to be touched, to see what he's not saying: "See how I could have hurt you? See how I didn't? See how you're alive because I let you?"The first shot feels like rage, uncorked, and the second is a promise. They miss him by only enough to say: "Don't count on me doing the same."





	leave me hanging like a spider with no fly

**Author's Note:**

> a few scenes, stitched together, written on my phone when i should've been working. this doesn't quite fit in anywhere, but you could say that 1. is set either when he's trying to escape toward the end of the season, or after scene 4, because we all know he'll escape. I wanted a cat and mouse, who's hunting who sort of thing after billy got exposed, but the show had other plans.  
> I've had long term writers block, with like 10 stories just sitting in my google docs, so, shout out to this for being so small that i was able to do it. Bear with me.

1."Dinah...", tone singsongy. He's mocking, in a way that implies you're in on the joke. "You'd shoot me? I didn't shoot you.” he says, a few steps below her.

"No, you just shot _at_ at me and my team. You murdered him." Billy moves a step up, closer, when her voice cracks on the last word. His eyes follow her finger on the trigger, and something crooked like a smile crosses his face. He bites the corner of his lip. She does not fall back when he moves forward, does not move closer, does not _give_.

"Yeah. Didn't get you, though." The implication: He missed her, specifically, on purpose. He wants her to be touched, to see what he's not saying: _See how I could have hurt you? See how I didn't? See how you're alive because I let you?_

She fires; the first shot feels like rage, uncorked, and the second is a promise. They miss him by only enough to say _don't count on me doing the same_.

He jumps and the smile dims, but his gaze...sharpens. There's a laser kind of focus to the way he looks at her; he cocks his head.

"No, you didn't.", she agrees, lightly, but she can feel it welling up in her again. The urge to hurt him, to harm him. Not for justice, but for her. Or, what that would even look like for her now. She thinks he can sense it. That violence that he's sparked; he enjoys that it's specific to him. He takes another step.

She could shoot him here. It'd be over that quick. He's dangerous. He says her name again. His hands go up , palms facing her, an illusion of surrender, a lie about his lack of intent. They're close enough now for him to reach out, hand on her neck and jaw, gentle, to tip her face up so they can stare straight at each other. Which means they're close enough for her to press the gun square against his chest. He could disarm her. She could pull the trigger. She steps back and he moves with her, presses into it, lets the gun dig and burrow into his ribs.

She shifts, steps forward. He only moves when she pushes him into the wall. He surges forward to kiss her, only to be shoved back in place. She still wants to hurt him. They breathe in sync once, twice. The gun is still hot. She rucks the collar down as far as it'll allow, kisses the spot beneath his collarbone, feels the familiar as he slides his hand into her hair. She presses the hot barrel against the spot she kissed, hard.

This? The way he hisses in sync with the sound of metal branding skin? That's satisfaction. It's so damn satisfying.

(The bonus she's not fully willing to admit to: the way he bites down on his lip on the exhale, knocks his head against the wall, the slight buck. Marking him, so he'll remember)

His chest heaves and he gives her that look again. There is no second kiss. Just the slide of a hand down his side, to the pull of the knife she knows he keeps on his side. The act of plunging the knife into his side feels like a release. Piercing him, the image of his invulnerability is

—good. "Goddamn it, Dinah", He grabs her wrist, squeezes, twists for the knife. She tries to smack him with the gun in her other hand, and drops the knife when he blocks her. Backs away immediately, gets some distance between them on the stairwell, gun cocked. "I could take that", he says, heaving, seething, and bleeding. "You could try. I could put another hole in you.", she responds.

There's an explosion a floor below, where her people are. He grins, already paler, teeth gleaming.

\-----

2\. In hindsight—

He missed a spot of blood on her neck, that neither of them notice until he's wrapped a towel around her and she's sitting on the bed. He put his mouth over it, worked it clean.

It wasn't weird at the time (it wasn't weird for them), not when it turns to kissing her neck, teeth worrying the skin, fingers fiddling with the hem of the towel. Dinah's not used to being comforted, allowing someone to comfort her. The whole experience is throwing her off. She doesn’t trade in tenderness, and it’s not something she expects from him.

(His performance of it isn’t bad, it just lacks heart)

It feels good. She makes no attempt to reciprocate. He gets more intense with it, like he’s proving something. Hand in her hair, fingers kneading and massaging her upper thigh. This routine is more familiar, she thinks, and opens up for him to continue.

“Lean back for me”, he tells her, real soft, but punctuated by a tug in her hair. He cocks his head and she feels a twinge of irritation, the same way she does when her mother tries to figure her out. He moves with her, her head supported by his hand, the other hand still between her legs. His mouth returns to where the blood was. They’re moving in a rhythm now, rolling while he works his fingers in and out, denim covered hard-on against her thigh. His teeth are on a pulse point, and he’s making these quiet groans that reverberate through her collarbone. The towel is making her more sensitive and she has to take it off to work her breasts with her own hand, suddenly exposed to cool air, when the rest of her feels like a furnace.

He moves his hand from under her head to her face, to turn it toward him, to focus on him when he kisses her, long fingers going deeper and moving slower, slick with her on them. She bites him hard right before they break, and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, just licks the spot. She nods her head toward the side table. He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls his fingers out, works his jeans off quickly, wraps them around his dick. There’s not even enough of her on his hand to lube himself up with, but he rubs whatever he can on anyway. Still, the heat builds in her belly watching him. The condom and lube go on quickly, and he’s sliding on top her with a grin.

“Goddamn, Dinah,” he breathes, “You feel so fucking good”. She feels full, present. They find their rhythm again and his hands wander all over her, lingering, exploring. She bucks up into him, reaches her own hands up, pulls him down into her, bites at his neck the way he did hers. He knows what to do by now, rolling them over so she can ride him, hands planted on his chest, and then slides one hand to his throat. He looks at her with those eyes that don’t give and nods. She squeezes, no build up, and his movements get wilder, less coordinated. His hands tighten on her waist, she knows the grip will leave marks. She looks into his face and thinks: _He wants to eat me alive._ It’s an expression she hasn’t seen from him before, less controlled and deliberate, eyes keen and bright, mouth practically a snarl. He’s swallowing, she can feel the muscles working against her hands, feel the haze that means she’s almost there. He hits the right spot with the right buck and her orgasm hits her, forces her to release him from the intensity of it.

There is nothing outside of her in that moment, nothing that matters outside of the way she’s engulfed by her own thrill. He comes on the second gasp of breath he gets to take, and they’re both left spent, lying next to one another. He smiles at her and quips something she doesn’t process, and she wishes he would leave. She doesn't tell him to, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps himself around her like he’s protecting her.

\-----

3\. Here's the thing: She's apathetic about relationships and bad at pretending not to be and he's good at playing like he cares. She thought he was a little delicate looking, at first, and a little too conscious of the effect he thinks he has on people. Slim all around, long fingers, stark collarbone. Doesn’t blink a lot. At the bar, though, she sees eyes that don't reveal anything, and someone who's willing to play her game, and then he seems a little more substantial. He has a tic, and though she doesn’t realize what it signals until later, she makes note of it that night. It’s the way he cocks his head. It’s like he’s recalibrating.

The sex was good and he was helping her get what she wanted. She only gets invested in him when he derails that. Now he’s got her full attention. This is a commitment she’s capable of making.

\-----

4\. She hears the click when she closes her door. Stupid mistake. “You’ve had a long day, Dinah. Must be tired. Big job, keeping the country safe. Thank you for your service.” He’s sitting in the chair a few feet away from the bed, gestures her towards it.

“Why are you here?” He wants her to be unsettled.

“No one has any tact anymore. I’m beginning to think it’s me. People aren’t happy to see me anymore. You think it’s the new look, scaring ‘em off?” The room is still dark. She can make him out by the moonlight through the shades. The light reflects off the silver of his belt buckle, and the metal of his gun. She can’t see what his face looks like now that the bandages are gone.

“You wanted me to remember. Help a guy out, hm? Tell me all the things you told me in the hospital.” (She said a lot of things. One of them was that seeing him get fucked over satisfied her more than he ever did.) She sees now that he’s mirroring her from that night she visited him, sitting leaned back, legs wide open, hand on thigh.

“This gun’s been fired. Still hot. Ready, set, go.” She knows what he wants from this. She knows what they get from this.

She starts, “I wish I’d been awake when he ground your face up. He was merciful. He should have gotten hold of you when you started healing, just to cut you up in the few places that hadn’t been torn apart already.” He’s shifting already, running the gun up and down his thigh. She can’t quite see the details of his crotch, but she can imagine. She remembers the hospital.

“I hate that the bullet hole in your cheek is closed up. I could stick my fingers through it and try to pull you apart. I wish you swallowed that bullet. You saw how Frank finished Rawlins? It should’ve been you, I should’ve been there. It would have been so easy for him to shatter your face then. When I think about getting shot? I don’t think of how you almost killed me. I think of how much worse you got and I am ecstatic.” He’s pressed the gun directly to his crotch now, the outline of his neck (still delicate looking) illuminated with his head thrown back. It can’t be too warm now, but he’s still running it over himself. “I see you and I want you to bleed, I want you to burn, here first, and then hell. You—

“Well goddamn, Dinah”. 

It's twisted, and it's them, until the day he dies.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i think they really dropped the ball with a lot of the character stuff for madani, especially being that she's the only female character to have a significant role in every episode of the season. i do like how closed off she is, and had they gone into that, along with some other things, her arc would have been far richer. also would've been great if she didn't get shot in the head two seconds after arriving at the climactic fight.
> 
> i read a two interviews from the actors that kind of confirmed for me that they liked each other, sure, but it wasn't a star crossed lovers sort of thing. I actually wish they had fleshed it out more, but the lack of time spent on it maybe matches the fact that they were really a means to an end, turned fuckbuddy, turned murder on sight nemesis.
> 
> I promise I'm aware that guns don't work like that. Bear with me.


End file.
